


Fragments: Post Mortem

by Ariah81



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Team Arrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:09:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariah81/pseuds/Ariah81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death leaves a void. And everyone copes in different manner. After receiving the news, Team Arrow tries to deal with the aftermath. Each person in their own way. (Spoilers on 3.09)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragments: Post Mortem

**Author's Note:**

> A short drabble written in order to cope with the hiatus and mid-season finale, Fragments may grow to become a longer form - if the Muse allows.
> 
> My first fic on AO3, my first fic in the Arrow department - I guess there's a first time for everything.
> 
> No copyright infringement intended, naturally. All rights to the franchise belong to DC and CW.

**FELICITY**

* * *

 

Later that night she wakes up gasping for air, with a dull pain in her chest. She doesn’t remember the dream.

 

* * *

 

The foundry is empty and quiet

    _like a tomb_

when she walks in, the sound of her heels digging into the silence with rhythmic stabs. Lights has been dimmed, the glass case

    _a coffin_

enclosing his suit is just faintly visible. Someone, probably Dig, has switched off the leds. The bloodied sword lays on the same table Sara’s body had laid. She faintly remembers covering the blade with a piece of cloth

    _like a shroud_

she found, because the sight of blood - not red, but almost black and already flaking of the steel - was too much for her. Dark varnish. The only part of him left.

She stops in front of the glass and looks the mannequin in the non-eye. It’s slightly taller than him, but as much animated. Closing her eyes, she can even imagine his face under the hood. It doesn’t hurt as much as

   _I love you_

some things. Some memories. She touches the spot just beneath the hairline, involuntarily. There’s acid in her throat.

    _I love you_

There’s a band tightening against her head, crushing her skull, pushing harder and harder.

    _I love you_

A whimper escapes her lips and she opens her eyes, startled at the sound. Surprised how terribly weak it is, how awfully inadequate. Because suddenly nothing can express what she feels, and nothing ever would.

‘No’, she says under her breath. ‘No, I don’t want to be a woman you love.’

She lifts her head, touches both hands to the glass, outstretched palms, supplicant.

‘I don’t want to be a woman you love if it means you’re never coming back!’

She feels anger, rearing its head in her chest. It stops the tears, but pushes the words forward. Her right hand clenched into a fist, she punches the glass, as if punching his shoulder.

‘I want you to be back. I want you to be safe. I want it all to be like it used to be. Just, you, Diggle and me. And Roy. I like Roy. Roy’s fine. Just be safe and be back.’

Never the past tense now, never with him. Past tense is death. Past tense is darkness. She cannot imagine not talking to him, ever again.

‘Please.’

The spot just beneath the hairline touches the glass. Her breath forms clouds on the surface.

‘Please, come back.’

_You said I’ll always be your girl._

 

**ROY**

* * *

 

 There is raw flesh visible on his knuckles, but his brain does not register this pain. It’s dulled down to an afterthought.

‘Have you been fighting again?’ she asks. It’s loud in Verdant and she has to shout, eyes filled with concern. He wonders if this concern is also pre-programmed.

‘A guy tried to mug me, can you believe it?’

Perhaps she does believe it. Perhaps it’s just her conditioning that forces her to believe. She does look worried.

‘Ollie didn’t come back home for Christmas’

_No. He didn’t. And he won’t come back. Ever._

He wants to tell her everything and hold her while she cries. He wants to put an arrow through her eye. He doesn’t understand himself.

So he watches her walk away, eventually, each step filled with grace that now betray a martial artist. He watches her talk with the stringy haired DJ. He watches him place his hand on her tight.

 

* * *

 

Later, when he grabs the guy’s arm and pushes him into a wall, the DJ’s swagger is gone. There’s fear in his eyes, unmasked by bravado.

‘Hello. I am Thea’s disapproving ex-boyfriend.’

This feels good.

This feels right.

This has to do. Now.

 

**DIGGLE [and LYLA]**

* * *

 

She watches her Johnny bent over the crib in silence. She saw his broad shoulders tremble just a moment ago, but now all the movement is gone. Johnny is a statue. Statues do not feel.

She wipes that annoying tear away. There’s little place for that now, what’s done is done. A part of her hates the fact that it was her connections that proved Merlyn’s words to be true. Frankly, she recollects hearing doubt in Amanda Waller’s voice over the phone. As if this one death was unbelievable for the Mockingbird.

Perhaps it was.

She hugs Johnny from behind, wraps her arms around his torso and breathes with him - in, out, in. It’s surprisingly soothing. This and watching their baby sleep.

‘I’ll end him’

Johnny’s voice is deadly calm. It’s a sniper’s voice, no emotion attached. Somehow, it scares her.

‘One step at a time, no hurry. I have time. He has to have a weak spot and I’ll find it. I’m good at that. Waiting.’

She lets him talk. She knows it helps.

‘I’ll kill Malcolm Merlyn.’

She takes a deep breath and kisses his shoulder.

‘I’ll help.’

  
  
  



End file.
